Equilibrium
by Rendered Reversed
Summary: !VRgameAU! Voldemort was supposed to be the bored necromancer with a slightly creepy obsession with the undead. Scarred was just supposed to be a berserker, but things never work out that way. For one, he's not a berserker. He's a bishop. For two, he's the renegade High Priest of Gryffindor. For three, well... let's just say Voldemort's obsession isn't on the undead anymore. TMR/HP
1. Entry I: Prologue

**Warnings: **possible dark themes, psychologically dark-ish? Harry, no magic, virtual reality gaming AU

**Pairing**: TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle/Harry Potter)

**Summary:** In the virtual reality game Witches and Wizards, players enjoy the discovery of a new world through all five of their senses. Certain players, such as Scarred and Voldemort, find it kind of hard to do so when they have to share their senses with each other.

Or, in which there is too much plot going on behind the scenes and Harry and Tom would rather discover each other than deal with it.

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter series - J.K. Rowling; this story was also inspired by Legendary Moonlight Sculptor, a korean light novel by Nam Hee Sung about a virtual reality game called Royal Road. You can read it at !

* * *

The virtual reality game of _Witches and Wizards_, the first to boast an amazing reality rate of 90%! Already it has a wide player base in Europe, North America, and Asia, and is currently making its way into Africa and Australia! In its world, called _Mortem_, many kingdoms exist—North, South, East, West, each region calls a variety of kingdoms their own, as well as possess a copious amount of pride in housing one of four bases of the dominating religion…

The Church of Hogwarts, with its Mother Goddess Hecate.

In the North, the Gryffindor faction reigns supreme—boasting courage and strength in the face of the harsh, frigid tundras. In the East, the Ravenclaw faction looks down from their mighty mountain ranges, seeking knowledge and _only_ knowledge in their seclusion. In the South, Slytherin faction hides in the swampy mists of the lower kingdoms, welcoming only those who they deem worthy and powerful. And in the West, Hufflepuff faction kindly welcomes _all_, with little military dominance but great loyalty all the same from their population in the mild environment.

One could say they are of the utmost importance in Mortem, for even the players, who were not born with the stringent loyalty and nationalism that the NPCs have, find themselves supporting their faction with surprising vigor. Though the religion is _one_, the factions have developed so that each have their own doctrine, and engage in battle with one another to further separate their realms.

It is, genuinely, a sad tale in history. The Four Founders, Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Helga Hufflepuff, were the best of friends. The religion was to encompass _all_, and their goal had been peace under the Holy Mother. Yet, it is _now_, five hundred years later, that their religion is cause for war and conquest.

But perhaps that may change… for a particular couple of players have finally received the quest that could change it all!

In Lumos Kingdom, the light of the North (both figuratively and literally), lies the base for the Gryffindor faction—specifically in the capital of _Fortuna Major_. The church stands tall, the tallest and most ornamental building in the capital, with sharp points and straight edges to show their dominance. It is both the symbol of protection and the symbol of war. Many flock to it in hopes of receiving a blessing, or sitting for prayer, or serving as a paladin in-training…

But a certain player's reason for coming is different.

His body is cloaked in black, hood thrown over his head and head bent low. His movement is seamless through the crowds—no one notices until he is at the steps to the church. There is something _dark_ in nature draping over his body, something evil and frightening. One hopes he would enter the church to cure himself of it…

"You there! Halt!" an NPC soldier cries from his post. The figure walks faster. "I said stop! Remove your hood! The Church of Gryffindor does not allow suspicious figures like yourself to enter!"

An NPC would register someone as suspicious if they have a depressingly high amount of _notoriety_, or in reverse terms, an abysmally low amount of _fame_. Another reason would be having a _murderer's mark_ above the head—the player's name in red, as those who kill other players would not be able to hide their name—or to be afflicted with a particularly strong curse.

Scarred _knew_ this would happen. "I _told you_ this wouldn't work," he grumbled under his breath. The air about him stirred curiously, almost in laughter. "_You prat_, this is a _serious quest_, you know. Merlin, why'd I even go along with it—"

"You there!" the NPC cried again. He had finally reached the suspicious player. "Remove your hood!"

Scarred paused, but it was only for a second. His hand moved up, reached the top of his hood agonizingly slow, and then lowered it.

The soldier stumbled back in shock. "Y—you… High Priest! Where have you been? It's been months! Huh… your eyes—wait, that scar…"

Scarred sighed. It was true, he now fit his name. The lightning red thunder bolt scar upon his forehead was hard to miss, even through his bangs. It was so obviously a curse scar that it _hurt_ to walk through a town without his cloak covering it. _Everyone_ looked in his direction. And his eyes, one green one red, looked even more ominous than that.

"Look, I need—"the player began, but was cut off by a cry behind them.

"You! Foul heathen, how dare you step on the entrance to the most holy and noble Church! Halt there and face your divine punishment!"

"Wha—?! But sir, this is the High Priest—"

"If we get caught, I blame you," Scarred muttered under his breath. The air stirred once more in reply. Then, lifting his head to face the guard again, he smiled apologetically. "Sorry. And I quit, by the way."

And then he threw a sucker punch at the soldier's face. Disoriented—because that was a _really strong punch, ouch!_—he stumbled back and felt his knees give out from under him. The player raced past him and through the large double doors of the church. By the time the group of five other soldiers met the guard at the doors, Scarred was long gone.

"Damn it all! You, go alert the Arch Bishop! Gather the paladins! That bastard must be caught!"

The soldier that Scarred had been talking to managed to get back up on his feet. "Sir… why are you chasing the High Priest?"

The commander took a glance at him from head to toe. "Where've you been man? Living in a cave? Well, that _High Priest_ is no longer our High Priest. He's a renegade. We've put a bounty on his head—one million galleons!"

"Wha—"

"Get back to your post! Make sure no more civilians enter the Church. We're going to catch that heathen _today_!"

"Y-Yes! Yes sir!"

* * *

Gryffindor's main church was, in fact, rather large. The main room was, of course, where players would come to pray and receive blessings, but there were also other rooms. There was one for confession, where priests would heal curses, one for an armory, one for a weaponry, and below the main ground there was lodging and special rooms for priests and paladins.

Scarred knew the layout like the back of his hand. He had lived here before, after all. And the particular room he was targeting was the room he used to reside in—the Office of the Arch Bishop and High Priest. While the Arch Bishop is in charge of most social affairs, the towns, kingdoms, situations of that nature, the High Priest is in charge of military. He'd trained the priests and paladins personally, as well as develop more spells and rituals on his own.

There was a saying—the Arch Bishop made the Church prosper, but the High Priest ensured the Church's _existence_.

As far as Scarred knew, he was the only _player_ to ever have such a powerful position so far. And it was the only reason he was able to reach the Office; the Church's protections would've kicked him out long ago because of his curse _and who he'd brought with him_ had it not been for the purity of his light magic.

Scarred also figured it was because of his intentions as well. The Church had a level of sentience not seen in other churches, and rumor had it that a piece of Hogwarts, the castle of the Founders, resided somewhere in it. He'd never found it, but the sentience of the Church's building was undeniable for how long he'd lived here. That his intentions seemed terrible at first glance, but were actually… slightly better in nature… proved it.

There was no _way_ he'd be able to get past the protections with the goal of _stealing the Church's primary ancient artifact_ otherwise.

"Ten minutes," he muttered under his breath, dashing through the crowds of people and avoiding all the obstacles as well, "now I have seven. _Merlin I'm going to fail I'm going to fail I'mgoingtofail—_"

Scarred got to the Office with five minutes left.

"Stop right there!" the Arch Bishop's old, wizened voice commanded. "Old friend you were once, but I will _not_ allow this to continue, Scarred. In the memory of our friendship I will attempt to cure you of that foul curse upon your body, but—"

Scarred ignored him. With a powerful leap, he flew off the dais and into the hands of a ten meter statue of Godric Gryffindor gilded with pure gold. And, from those very cold stone hands, Scarred removed a sword from its resting place. The blade sung as the light from the window hit its edge, and the hilt was easy and light in his hands as if it recognized someone worthy of wielding it. Along the blade was a very simple inscription—_GRYFFINDOR_.

**Sword of Gryffindor**

**_The sword of Gryffindor, one of the Four Founders of the Church of Hogwarts! Crafted by the Master Craftsmen of the Goblin race for Godric Gryffindor's hands, it is not only a masterpiece of art but also one of the most deadly weapons on the battlefield! Though it is practically five centuries old, because of the craftsmen who made it as well as the great care it's been given as a Holy Artifact of the Gryffindor Faction, the sword is in perfect condition._**

**Durability: 1900/1900**

**Requirements: Strength 300. Faith 100. Level 400. Advanced Level Sword/Weapon Mastery. If the wielder is accepted as a _true_ Gryffindor, there are no requirements. 20% of health is sacrificed if the wielder uses the sword unjustly.**

**Attack +500**

**Mana +1000**

**Charisma +100**

**Strength +50**

**Faith +25**

**Charm +25**

**Elemental Resistance +20%**

**Magical Affinity +30%**

**_Because this weapon is made by Goblins, there are additional abilities that can be used when wielding it. While the abilities are in use, there is a penalty of mana per second depending on the usage._**

**Gryffindor's Sword can absorb the special attributes of certain legendary monsters it has slain. Current attributes are:**

**Tears of the Phoenix**

**Poison of the Nine Headed Hydra**

**Flight of the Pegasus**

**Fire of the Nine Tailed Fox**

**Venom of the Basilisk**

There was dead silence.

"Today I'll be taking it," Scarred said, holding the sword in his hands reverently. He smiled and watched his reflection in the blade smile back at him. The adrenaline rushing through his veins drove him to continue.

"You—"

"_Today_," Scarred proclaimed, lifting the shining sword above his head with one arm, "I'll be taking this back—_the Sword of Gryffindor_!"

As soon as those words left his lips, the priests sprung into actions. Barriers and shields and movement restrictions were flung in Scarred's direction, but with a single wave of his hand, the restrictions were blown away. All that were left were the outer barriers stopping him from escaping.

"You'll regret this, Scarred!" the Arch Bishop growled. "You'll be an enemy of this Church! You'll never be able to walk among man again with this!"

Scarred opened his mouth to speak, but it was not _his_ voice that spoke next. In the background, the priests' voices were mumbling together to charge up for a powerful spell, and the paladins already surrounded all three sides of the statue as well as block the door.

"With all due respect Arch Bishop, there's nothing you can do to stop us." A cloaked figure materialized at Scarred's side, and the player felt an arm move around behind him and a hand grip his shoulder. The room's temperature dropped several degrees—while the Church was usually kept warm by enchantments, it seemed like they were overpowered by this figure's presence.

"You… _You_! Leave this holy place! Your presence taints the walls and the entire _city_ with your appearance here! _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_! _Voldemort_!"

"Oh, I'll be leaving alright," Voldemort chuckled, "very soon in fact. But it will be with my partner, _and_ our prize."

"Stop pissing him off," Scarred hissed.

"We're already infamous. There's no possible way we can make it any worse—doubt there's much difference between 5000 notoriety and 6000. Stop worrying so much."

"Where… where did it go wrong… How did you manage to corrupt our High Priest, you filthy necromancer?!"

"Corrupt me?" Scarred muttered to himself. He discreetly elbowed his partner when he began to smirk.

"I'm offended, Arch Bishop. You doubt my charm?"

"Our High Priest has the purest light magic I've ever seen! What kind of curse have you cast—unless, _no_, you used ancient magic from the Slytherin faction?!"

Voldemort opened his mouth to reply, but he was cut off by another jab to his ribs. "_Don't. Say. It,"_ Scarred hissed, "I will _not_ be responsible for a war _just because you don't like Gryffindor_."

"Well what do you expect from me?" Voldemort muttered back, "I'm a _Slytherin_."

"Have a bit of tact!"

"I don't see anything wrong with a wa—"

"Duck!"

Both players frantically dodged the incoming burst of light magic just in time. It missed but the hair on their head, and as they caught themselves from falling off the statue, they noticed the wide array of spells trained on them… as well as the paladins with their swords ready for when the two would inevitably fall.

"…Got a plan?" Scarred asked nervously.

Voldemort took a deep breath. He was already exhausted from maintaining his intangible form that had allowed them to get into the capital in the first place, and even worse, the holy magic of the Church put a high penalty on any magic usage he could use while being in the building. There was no possible way he could summon any large undead, or cast a dark area spell encompassing all of the paladins and priests. But he had enough for a distraction.

"Switch with me."

That was all that needed to be said. Scarred nodded, trusting his partner, his dark, his other half. His physical body blurred until it faded completely, leaving only a faint sparkle in the air. Immediately it wrapped about Voldemort's body, forming a protective shield against the spells that would certainly come.

"Spirits of the underworld, come to your master's aid; ensnare all the foes before me, summon: _spectral wraiths_!" It was the best he could do. Voldemort watched as dark bodies began to reach up out of the NPCs' shadows, grabbing at the physical bodies and restraining them. While they were not high or even middle class summons, the fact that he was a high class necromancer boosted their strength to cause a mess that had to be cleaned for the priests. Certainly the paladins would take them down in no time, but because of their sheer number, it would take a few minutes.

And _that_ would be when they would make their escape.

A burst of light magic flew at them from the crowd of priests, doubtlessly one of the spells that took awhile to cast by its spiraling shape and powerful surge. However, Voldemort made no move to dodge. Instead he watched as the spell collided with an invisible shield, and then, as if it could fight no more, dissipated into nothingness.

Scarred was not to be underestimated. While no longer holding the occupation of High Priest, he _still was_ a bishop in class, and his masteries were nothing to shirk at either. Voldemort felt a little proud—the player was a genius when it came to light magic.

But _now_… was the time to make their escape.

"As my dear partner has said," Voldemort smirked toward the Arch Bishop, "we'll be taking the Sword of Gryffindor. And I _guarantee_ the other factions will not be exempt from our… shall we say, _atrocities_ either."

The window behind them shattered by a piercing beam of light. Voldemort wasted no time in melting into the shadows, becoming nothing more than a blob of untouchable darkness before leaping to the top of the statue and then out the now open window.

Scarred was going to yell at him for this.

* * *

Voldemort took them as far as he could go before collapsing in exhaustion. Thankfully, the North wasn't as industrialized as, say, the West—the fickle environment kept most towns tightly packed, wide expanses of open grounds between them and the next. While the capital was far larger than any other town in Lumos Kingdom, there still was open expanse outside the walls, where the paladins and priests could not find them.

He felt Harry materialize beside him, shifting closer to pull his head down to rest upon his shoulder. A hand came to rest upon his head.

"O you who tire, you who protect, let the Holy Mother bless you for your good faith; _divine blessing_!"

Voldemort relaxed, feeling Scarred's magic wash over his body. The buff boosted his regeneration of stamina, but it would still be best to eat something.

Just _not_ Scarred's cooking.

His partner had… some strange tastes. Most would find them downright _foul_, and Voldemort was inclined to agree most of the time. His cooking skill was high, certainly, and the attributes to be gained by eating the food were surprisingly useful (and added to a great amount; the strange combinations usually yielded good results for at least Scarred's manner of cooking), but there was usually a penalty placed on it for taste. So Voldemort preferred not to try at all.

"You should eat something," Scarred said, shoving a chocolate bar in front of his nose.

Voldemort grimaced. "No thank you—_you_ should eat it. You stayed in your alternate form for at least nine minutes—"

"Eat it. You don't have to worry, I didn't make it. And I have some herbs I'm munching on right now."

…His partner knew him well. With a sigh, Voldemort moved his head and simply bit off a chunk, letting the dark chocolate taste melt in his mouth. There were some things _Witches and Wizards_ brought to the table that were surprisingly unexpected with their 90% reality. _Taste_ was one of them—he'd probably tried more types of food playing than he had dining at a fancy restaurant. Voldemort closed his eyes and let the bittersweet taste and beauty of silent companionship do away with his fatigue.

The forest they were in gave resistance to the icy winds. Scarred's blessing gave them a bit more resistance to the cold. While they would soon have to move, soon wasn't _now_. They could relax for a bit, something Voldemort noticed most players didn't appreciate enough. Time flowed differently inside the game, and few realized that _Witches and Wizards_ could be just as hectic as reality when there were urgent things to do.

There were those who played the game for enjoyment. For relaxation. For a trip out of real life and into the beauty of virtual reality.

But there were also players who thought differently.

If you put your time into something, your effort, your hard work and compassion, there is no reason to call that life "virtual reality". Because you _are_ living a life there, wherever that 'there' is. You have goals, you meet people, you laugh and groan and you enjoy it, even the challenges and the difficulties. Some things you enjoy more than others, but that's life.

"Virtual reality" is a reality as well, especially because of developing technology. With a large percentage of the population entering it, despite age, race, and occupation, its existence is undeniable. Some might see it as a new market, others as a vacation whenever you wanted it.

But that too is 'life'.

And Voldemort—Tom Riddle—wanted to enjoy it with the person he couldn't imagine he could live without.

And that was why Scarred—Harry Potter—fought. Giving up was never an option—this life was where he'd met his partner, after all. It was a life he wanted to protect.

"Hey," Scarred murmured, "good job today."

"Mmm. You as well—perhaps we _do_ have a chance of making it out alive…"

**Secrets of the Founders Quest**

**_Something is amiss in the Church of Hogwarts—corruption and further miscommunications have been slowly escalating the situation, but recently there has been a spike in conflict! It is believed that the origins of the problem stretch to the Founders of the Church. To right the wrongdoings of the current factions, as well as save the continent from continuing on the path towards an all-encompassing war, establish contact with the Founders through the items they left behind and receive information and permission to investigate! This is a request from Albus Dumbledore, Emperor of Mortem._**

**Difficulty: ?**

**Requirements: Advanced Necromancy Skill Advanced Level "Contact the Dead". Advanced Level Light Arts. Advanced Level Dark Arts. Allegiance to at least one of the factions of the Church of Hogwarts.**

**Sword of Gryffindor 1/1**

**Locket of Slytherin **0**/1**

**Diadem of Ravenclaw** 0**/1**

**Cup of Hufflepuff** 0**/1**

***Failure to complete this quest will result in the permanent deletion of your character, as to be caused by the wrath of Holy Goddess Hecate**

***Pre-requisite of Secret of the Deathly Hallows Quest**

* * *

**This fic is to try and fix my writer's block. As such, the writing will have some questionable quality (like this chapter) and focus mainly on plot. There will also be slow updates.**

**This fic is also posted on Ao3 as well. **

**Thank you guys!**

**Sincerely,**

**R.R.**


	2. Entry II: Scarred

**Warnings: **possible dark themes, psychologically dark-ish? (apathetic) Harry, no magic, virtual reality gaming AU

**Pairing**: TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle/Harry Potter)

**Summary:** Voldemort was just supposed to be the bored necromancer who had a slightly creepy obsession with the undead. Scarred was just supposed to be a berserker-but things never quite work out that way.

For one, he isn't a berserker. He's a bishop. For two, he isn't just anything-he's the renegade High Priest of Gryffindor. For three, well... let's just say Voldemort's slightly creepy obsession wasn't on the undead anymore.

Glitches were so inconvenient.

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter series - J.K. Rowling; this story was also inspired by Legendary Moonlight Sculptor, a korean light novel by Nam Hee Sung about a virtual reality game called Royal Road. You can read it at royalroadl(period)com!

Also, 1/2 Prince by Yu Wo also deserves some credit! Definitely inspired by that too (another VR-MMORPG light novel, but there's also a manga adaption). Read it now at princerevolution(period)org! The manhwa can be read at mangahere or mangafox, or probably any of your favorite manga reading sites.

* * *

It is, perhaps, his most blessed secret that he cannot see.

No, not _see_, but _feel_. Harry Potter is not a sociopath—or at least, as far as he knows—nor is he a monster. He is neither a creature of some disputable or unknown reputation nor a criminal seeking escape from the governing law. It is not within his _nature_ to disregard all others and place himself upon a pedestal—he is a man. That, no one can take away from him.

But the type of human that he is, he doesn't quite know.

_Seeing_—that is, _feeling_ in this case—cannot be considered under one name a virtue nor a flaw. That is something he understands, and thus, perhaps, why for that reason he believes his inability in doing so a blessed secret. For Harry felt deep within his being on dreamless nights and too early mornings that he could no longer understand what it was and is to _care_. He did not believe himself incapable of caring, but simply put, unable to _feel_ if he cared or not.

The questionably apathetic nature of such behavior was quite frankly terrifying, especially because, as he views the world from his too old eyes, his mind questions under what circumstances and what beliefs others around him found themselves in to... well, _care_. Because he could not see them.

He could notice them, but not see or _feel_. And Harry found, much to a further developing apathy and a suspicious lack in misery—dear God, he prayed he would not lose his morals next, if he truly were to suffer through increasing loss of human qualities!—it was _he_ who could not see it. _He_ who could no longer comprehend it _yes,_ he _alone_. And nothing felt quite so hopeless as that—for though his fear of continuous loss of comprehension could be considered _caring_, there still lied a certain apathy in it that he could not deny.

Harry questioned.

_Did it really matter? Will it ever? Where is there to go from here?_

While these thoughts seemed to spiral, they did not hold a desperate note in them as would have been implied by mere words. The strangely distant quality he'd taken to mostly everything stretched to envelop these questions too, and it was a wonder that he could even work up the nerve to do something out of the ordinary anymore.

Was this depression? Surely not! He... He was normal. While his childhood had not been, filled with suspense and phantom pains and half memories of punches and physical exertion, Harry had figured he'd turned out alright. Perhaps even _excellent,_ if on the other side of the spectrum hid a psychopathic megalomaniac of a murderer... Some antagonist in a horror story, doubtlessly.

So Harry spoke less and less. Speaking, figuring out the right words to say to preserve everyone else's sensibilities simply proved too much trouble. Why wasted the energy when he could say _nothing at all_, and hardly anyone would bat an eyelash to it? Yes... yes it was better _this way_.

This way, the few friends he had would _stay few_, though the apathy came back with a curse, whispering how he didn't particularly hold any of them significantly dear to the heart. _That _was disturbing as well—because it wasn't like he didn't _care_, it was just he didn't know if he cared _enough_, and woe be it to the one who chose to call him out on it (if anyone minded to, Harry doubted that) because a hopelessly lost Harry was as good as a wounded animal.

Only, without the drive to bother attacking.

It was on a particular day like this that Harry found himself waking up to an arduous process that should in all rights be made _illegal_, but that ran into all sorts of other legal problems and philosophical—technical?—problems that everyone could do without. The sun's light, slipping in through the blinds of the window, moved in their glistening nature across his bed sheets, much like a reflection of water across a mirror.

It was the additional movement of the tree's leaves outside that did it, certainly that—because no one bothered to visit him anymore aside from an impersonal phone call every now and then. But that too was hardly as pitiful as it sounds—it was fact. Simple as that.

Harry stretched, legs parting and shoulders and wrists creaking. He laid there, eyes closed and breathing smooth, for awhile yet. The sun felt uncomfortable in a familiarly soothing way is it danced along his bare skin, unveiled by the thin sheets that had pulled away from his chest. He would like to lie here a moment more, two moments perhaps, if that was an option.

Daytime sleep was always the best—the night brought the unsavories and night mares after all. He'd rather not have another galloping into his dream state to trample over all his senses for the next hours of torture, thank you very much. Those horses could stick to their stables! They were the only creatures Harry figured he could not fight off with a good kick, which they _did_ deserve, if Harry had any say in it.

Eventually, with minimal grumbling he rose. Dim, with slits of light was what he preferred, and his mornings were always just that.

He'd pick a fight in the local dojo after his warm up run.

* * *

"A place where you could fight anytime you want! Wouldn't that be the dream for ya, Harry? Where everything could be solved with a little scuffle, and that'd be it! You'd real that world, I'm sure of it!"

Harry smiled at the enthusiastic student he'd just sparred with. "It would be chaos there," he denied lightly. "Chaos is only nice once in awhile."

"Ha! But you'd enjoy it, wouldn't you?"

"It doesn't matter much to me if it doesn't exist. There isn't any point to the what ifs if you aren't going to do something about them."

"Well, I suppose," the man grumbled. "But you're a good person Harry. If a world like that was ruled by you, it'd be a beautifully controlled chaos, I guarantee you that. You'd not let a man's crime go unpunished, but all the same not let a man's virtues go unpraised."

Harry smiled, a little tighter this time. "You flatter me," he disagreed, "I don't believe I could be such a grand person, especially not a leader. A good heart isn't all that makes a man."

At about this time during a lull in their conversation, another male student taking his quick rest walked up to them. "Apologies brothers, but I couldn't help but hear your conversation. And I must say, a world like that does exist if you want it to be! In a virtual reality game."

"Oh? You're talking about that game all you youngsters are playing now?"

"Not just me," denied the younger practitioner, "but my parents as well. Most of my family play it—_Witches and Wizards_! You don't have to play for the sake of leveling! My aunt plays because she wants to travel the continent just like on a vacation."

"_Witches... and Wizards_?" Harry's echoed.

"That's right! You should play it, Potter! While it's made for people who know little about fighting to still get by the reality isn't a joke! You've got an edge if you're already used to controlling your body that way."

"...I suppose it won't hurt to look."

* * *

So he'd bought it, and carried the box home. It was fairly simple to hook up, and soon enough he was left waiting for it to finish charging. Harry fetched himself a snack as he read through the manual.

A world of 90% reality! Harry admitted it was rather interesting in theory. He'd never played any of the predecessor VR games, so this would be his first try. You could interact with the world with touch, taste, sight, smell, and listening—any pain experienced was muted, though it would feel uncomfortable. Everything else was realistic. The environment mirrored that which existed in the real world. If you were on top of a mountain it would be hard to breathe. If there was snow you would have a chance of catching frostbite, or coming down with an illness.

The environment could kill you. Monsters were not the only things that dealt damage.

Eating food caused all kinds of side effects depending on what you were eating. It could burn, it could remain uncooked halfway through. You could even get food poisoning! There were consequences to every misstep, just as there were in real life! This was what appealed to Harry. Ever since he could remember he was constantly considering the consequences of every single action he made. Often it meant they difference between a meal or a night of hunger. Putting his mind back into considering every move incited his challenging nature.

As he read further, it was clear that humans could effect the environment of the game too. They could build houses, cutting down trees for lumber, or create irrigation systems in order to bring water to landlocked areas. They could plant herbs or trees, attracting a variety of monsters to a new area. They could make tunnels, or ditches, or moats. They could fence off or wall off monsters to create a town if there were enough attractive forces to gather a small NPC population.

Gaining levels did not make the whole game.

In fact, the system _dissuaded_ from focusing on purely levels. Harry recognized this instantly, despite it never being explicitly stated. Skill levels differed from character levels, and could only be raised by practicing the skill. While leveling up your character gave ability points, they were a fixed amount. To gain anything additional required action out of the ordinary. The hard work could've turned some people away, convincing them to remain in their beginning town to enjoy it forever, but it made Harry curious.

He wanted to see how far he could go. How far he could reach.

There was something beautiful there to grasp and behold, he was sure of it. You cannot expect to gain anything without moving yourself! Gifts do not fall into the hands of the idle! To work toward something you are unsure of, even without a specific goal in mind, will take you somewhere! And if you pave that path, there will doubtlessly. Something to find at the end of it, or even along they way!

Harry had long lost the motivation to progress. The life of a simple minded civilian who worked for simple goals did not suit him. He progressed without ever _truly_ progressing. But with the discovery of _Witches and Wizards_, the promise of a new frontier where he could spread his wings out to their fullest, outside of the cage, to see his own wing tips—yes! This was what buried the shovel into the dried up dirt surrounding his soul, and prepared to dig all the way down deep in search of water!

Water. The liquid of life! The image of a cascading waterfall! This is what Harry desired to flow in his veins once more.

So he took the visor in his hands, plugged it into the console, and closed his eyes. The cushion of his couch faded away into the background as he entered the realm of Mortem, ready to step back onto a path no matter where it would take him. One could even say this sense of raw motivation, that which a dying man in search of the last droplets of life would muster, cast an ominous cloud over this monumental event in Harry's life.

Because someone who would do anything for something is one of the most dangerous creatures of all! And this is the type of beast that prepared for entry into Mortem, with none the wiser!

**Welcome, new player, to ****_Witches and Wizards_ ****. What would you like your name to be?**

"Scarred."

**"Scarred," are you sure?**

"Yes. Confirmed!"

**"What race would you like your character to be?"**

_Someone worthy of rampaging the plains, come rain, hail, or storm. Such a person... There is only one race properly fitting of it! Only one race properly stubborn enough, who will get up time and time again. The cockroach of creatures! _"Human!"

**"Human," are you sure? In case you did not read the manual, we have 20 races of different creatures currently available for new users.**

"Yes, confirmed."

**Would you like to customize your character? You can keep your appearance as you are in real life if you so wish.**

"Keep my appearance."

**Understood. Keep in mind you may not change your skin color, eye color, facial structure, or height in game. Dying your hair and styling it is allowed, and will be saved the next time you log on. Where would you like to start your adventure?**

Here, Harry paused. Gryffindor is the house of the brave and courageous, values a warrior would take to. However, Slytherin values _power_, which was an obvious choice for those seeking strength whatever the cost. Ravenclaw is the house of the intelligent, and in another way, especially for this game, knowledge is power... But Hufflepuff is geographically the best choice to get a good start as a true beginner, since so many people where centered there it would surely give the most help.

**I see you are conflicted. Do you know about the factions?**

"Yes. I read the manual."

**In that case, considering that you have trouble deciding on your region of choice, would you like to allow the Sorting Hat to sort you? Depending what faction it sorts you in, you will go to the corresponding region. You will also be automatically registered under that faction.**

"...Alright then. Please have the Sorting Hat sort me."

Instantly, Harry felt himself materialize in an empty stone room. It was a curious feeling, suddenly being in control of your arms and legs—suddenly _seeing_ them, for in front of him suddenly appeared a huge ornate body mirror. In it, he saw his reflection. Something compelled him to come closer.

**"Why HELLO there! You're the indecisive adventurer now, are you? Well let's take a peek and see what's in that head of yours!"**

"Ex... Excuse me?" Harry muttered, furrowing his eyebrows. His reflection did the same. But then, Harry swore it _smiled_ at him, and so he blinked and rubbed his eyes in confusion because _reflections reflect, and he certainly hadn't smiled_...

When he concentrated on the mirror again, he was wearing a large, wide brimmed pointed hat. Harry jolted, taking a step back and raising his hands cautiously to check whether it was true. His reflection copied him. As his fingers touched the worn leather, Harry registered the weight of something on his head, and found the brim of the hat touching the upper edge of his vision.

**"I'm the Sorting Hat! And ****_you_ ****, Mr. Potter, must come to realize that in this world-no, in ****_both_ ****worlds, the only truth there is, is the truth of perception! What you think is real is only so real as you ****_let it be_ ****."**

"How do you know my name?" Harry asked breathlessly, confused and still in a bit of shock.

**"Why, it's all in your head!** **See? Got to learn to look, Mr. Potter!"**

He opened his mouth to argue back that he didn't see _anything_, especially not his _name_, but another glance at the mirror proved him to be very wrong. For in front of him, written on the glass in the mist of his breath, was _Harry Potter_.

**"This is the Mirror of Erised! See the inscription? 'I show you not the truth, but your desire'! With this, I can see it all—everything in that head of yours. You see, I call you Mr. Potter because that is whom you ****_want to be. _****You have yet to want to be ****_Scarred_ ****, so that is not what I'll call you."**

"What if I didn't want to be Harry Potter?" asked Harry. "Wouldn't that mean you wouldn't know who I am?"

**"Half of being you is being what you want. You are never one hundred percent ****_not _****what you want. Your behavior, your manners, your beliefs... That is all what you subconsciously want. If you figured you were, oh, ****_I don't know, _****John Locke, then Mr. Locke you'd be. I wouldn't be wrong, ****_you_****would just have two names."**

"I... think I understand..."

**"Yes, well, don't think too hard on it or you won't understand anymore,"** the Sorting Hat wryly remarked. **"As fascinating as you may prove to be at conversations, let's get on with it, shall we? Destiny doesn't like to wait longer than she has to, and I'm sure she'll blame it on me if you keep her waiting too long."**

"How are you going to sort me? Will you simply see where I want to go?"

**"If it was that simple, I'd have never appeared to you. No, you earnestly don't know where to go, and thusly it is ****_my job_ ****to sort you. Whatever faction I choose for you will be your ****_true _****house. You will be a ****_true _****member of it. Never forget that! For no one can be true members unless I deem it so."**

"Alright. I'm open to suggestions."

**"Hm... Yes, well, let's have a look see!"**

Harry watched in amazement as images of all kinds flashed before him in the mirror. He was always the central piece, no matter if there were other people in them or not. He saw himself flying on a broom, running incredibly fast through the forest, cradling some indistinguishable object in his hands, and many more scenes. The last he saw was himself with his parents, smiling together with them.

**"You... are infuriatingly difficult to sort, Mr. Potter, I'll give you that. Oh don't look so worried! I rather like it. Appreciate the challenge—this job is so ****_dull _****sometimes, don't you know? Ah, now, hmm... Where to put you..."**

There was a pause.

**"You'd do well in Slytherin, I'll give you that,"** the Sorting Hat finally said, **"that faction would bring you to greatness! But... What's this? Ah yes, you sure are a tricky one Mr. Potter. While Slytherin seems the best suited, that is but the outmost layer of your mind... I can see it, you know, all those things that you used to be and ****_still could be..._****"**

"So... My faction is...?"

In the mirror, Harry could've sworn he saw the Sorting Hat _smirk_.

**"BETTER BE GRYFFINDOR!"**

Harry vanished in a flash of light.

* * *

To help players adapt to the world they found themselves in, as well as establish some commendations in their home kingdom, there was an adjustment period of four weeks. New players could not leave the premise of the town for a month—they were recommended during this time to explore and seek out quests to get a bit of beginning currency.

The town's vicinity expanded to half the way to the woods. This gave newbie players access to rabbits to hunt, but they were not very good experience. The leather dropped by the wolves and rabbits could, however, be requested by NPCs. Occasionally there would be a monster hunts quest, but that would be towards the end or completely out of the four weeks.

Harry knew he would need all the time he could get to become fully adjusted, and the information he needed to gather during this time would be priceless as well.

Unlike most players, his goal for a class was not a warrior, or a mage, or an archer, or even a thief. Harry had his sights on a secret class—the berserker class! A class dedicated to battle! The longer the battle wages on, stronger still does the berserker get! A class that will do whatever's necessary in a fight, using whatever available as a weapon! In some respects, this makes them similar to martial artists, however, the ruthlessness of berserkers differentiate the two.

Martial artists respected and honored the art of all weaponry—including the human body—but berserkers possessed no such sentimentalities in their battle. They fought to fight, to sate their bloodlust... For the rush of it.

Harry didn't find himself particularly bloodthirsty, nor did he find a drive in himself to go out of his way and harm others. No, he desired the path of the berserker because he saw in them the quality of _resilience. _Harry saw the stubborn nature that had them _excel_ in situations others would be eaten alive in. And he saw a bit of himself there too.

But he had no idea how to _become_ one. All he knew was that it _existed_. There were multiple ways to obtain a secret class, and no one knew exactly how many there were. So he was moving without a clear path, but Harry was determined. All he knew was what he wanted. As long as he strived toward it, he'd get _something_.

So that was that.

The North! A frozen realm of hidden potential, if only one could brave the environment to find it! This was where Harry found himself. Though, the towns _were_ relatively warmer than outside the castle walls—due to enchantments, of course—but the air was still biting with the wrong apparel. The system was kind enough to grant new players starting here a warmer set of newbie clothes than the other regions.

So with his warm fur pelt tunic and pants, Harry set off to do a variety of odd jobs in the first three weeks of his game play with but ten small loaves of bread and a dagger in his pouch. There were quests to tend the fire, to deliver and pick up items, to dust merchandise or clean dishes. Some were curiouser—digging in the snow for a particular item, gathering herbs or other usables from the ground.

Harry's stats at the beginning were as follows:

**Name: Scarred ~ Level: 1**

**Faction: Gryffindor ~ Class: None**

**Title: None ~ Fame: 0**

**Health: 100 ~ Mana: 100**

**Strength: 10 ~ Stamina: 10**

**Intellect: 10 ~ Wisdom: 10**

**Luck: 10 ~ Agility: 10**

**Attack: 0 ~ Defense: 0**

**Fullness: 100 ~ Fatigue: 0**

Through this manner, Harry learned the basics to survive the North! Though he did not end up in Lumos Kingdom—his origin was the small town of Little Hippogriff, ProtegoKingdom. As the name implied, they specialized in breeding hippogriffs, a majestic creature that was half horse half griffin. They were not used as common sources of transportation, but breeding them was worth the trouble. Nobles often bought hippogriffs to participate in sky races, or simply as a show of wealth. Certain high ranks in the military used them in battle.

The hippogriffs also helped the village hunters hunt. Riding them like steeds on both land and sky, hunters were able to catch prey at a much higher rate. One could say the hippogriffs were essential to the village's existence.

So far, none of the villagers had asked assistance in tending to the beasts. They were rather prideful, and a quest was not given easily. Handling the hippogriffs also had a great deal of mystique around it, though it was generally understood that the beasts hated the arrogant and were quick to make judgment.

But, during his fourth week, Harry finally made contact with Hagrid, the old stable master. It was an opportunity!

"Bloody assistants… Don' need 'em anyway! Those others can just take 'em! I don' need the extra hands o' course… Ain' raisin' anythin' here anyway, according to 'em… bloody bastards…"

"Excuse me," Harry interrupted the giant's mumbling, "do you happen to need some help?"

"Wha'?" Hagrid turned around, giving Harry a good once-over. "From yeh? Ain' need any help over here, an' tha's the end o' it! Jus' fine with meself. Don' need 'em traitors anyway."

"I'm not sure who you mean," Harry blinked.

"Those other stablemasters!" exploded Hagrid. "They be stealin' me only two hands! Ain' nobody but meself takin' care o' those beau'iful beasts now… Said I wasn' rasin' anythin' here, they said! Took 'em with their sickles and galleons… Ain' no respect fer ol' Hagrid! To hell with 'em, tha' lot!"

"But how can they say that? There's a hippogriff right over there..."

"Yeh understand then! Me hippogriffs the bes' outta this small town! But money speaks money, yeh hear, and all me stable hands left! Dunno wha' I can do now… On'y one giant, and these beasts need care… Tha' girl over there loves her attention, yeh see, and tha' one over there loves bein' fed by the hand…"

Harry listened as Hagrid prattled on and on about his hippogriffs. It was a view from the other side, so to speak. A villager to a new player! He cared for his hippogriffs like they were his own children, and they returned that 'love' with all the affection animals could show. During this time, it was hard to remember the old stable master was an NPC, that there wasn't really a _human_ behind those eyes and words and tears.

Harry didn't know how to sympathize, but his heart stirred and he wanted to _do something to help_.

"If you could teach me, I'll help you the best that I can. Maybe if they see a person working here, some more villagers will come for work."

Hagrid smiled at him, full of innocent joy and relief. "Tha's a great idea! I don' think I can thank yeh enough! Oh, wha' was yer name again? Don' think I ever asked."

"It's Scarred," Harry replied. "Just Scarred."

"Well then Scarred! I'd teach yeh the basics, bu' can' go 'bout doin' that 'til yeh have the beasts' approval! Hippogriffs are prideful things, bes' show 'em respect to get some in return. I'll introduce yeh ter Buckbeak! Sweetest o' the lot!"

Harry nodded and followed after, but upon seeing who 'Buckbeak' was, he wasn't quite sure Hagrid was telling the truth… Out of all the hippogriffs, he looked the meanest, singled out from the lot and given his distance by the others of the herd. He looked back up towards Hagrid, but the giant was completely oblivious of Harry's hesitance. He was still smiling and chuckling, lumbering over to Buckbeak with a cheery greeting.

"This here is Buckbeak! Beau'iful, ain' he? Now, ter properly greet a hippogriff, first…"

**Greeting of the Hippogriff Quest**

**_It is incredibly rare for new players to receive quests regarding the hippogriffs of Little Hippogriff, not because none of the villagers require assistance, but because hippogriffs themselves are rather picky on who they accept! Should you earn the respect of a hippogriff, they are fiercely loyal and protective. Just as well, if you fail the first greeting, take it as a sign to flee and never come back! Hippogriffs are half-horse half-griffin, a mix that leaves them incredibly dangerous if offended._**

**Difficulty: E**

***failure to complete this quest will automatically deny you the privilege of working with Hagrid's hippogriffs**

An E level quest! So far, Harry had been receiving F level quests, which were the lowest grade a player could get. Their rewards usually ranged from a few knuts to a sickle, perhaps a lousy or broken equipment, but no more than ten sickles were ever given. The rewards of course increased in value the higher the difficulty of quests, though there was also an increase no matter the difficulty rank if it resulted in a chain quest.

The highest rank known was S, the mythical S level quest! No one had ever obtained one so far, and whether there was a SS or SSS was unknown. Higher ranking quests were difficult to receive in the first place, never mind complete, because it usually required a ridiculous amount of high fame or a very high intimacy with an important NPC or village in general.

"Yeh understand?"

Harry immediately accepted the quest. He nodded, replying, "I'll be glad to meet Buckbeak."

Hagrid stepped aside, waving him forward. Harry approached cautiously. He didn't know what level Buckbeak was, but it was very likely—considering he was only level three!—that it could kill him in one strike. The talons looked especially sharp, and that the beak was probably just as was something Harry would rather not find out about.

When he was a respectful though closer distance away from the hippogriff, Harry bowed at the waist, never breaking eye contact with the great beast. He waited, tense, as Buckbeak eyed him, ruffling its feathers and kicking at the ground.

Would this be it…?

It approached with its head held high, a threatening gleam in its eyes and Harry was incredibly tempted to spin around and run. However, he managed to keep himself completely still, and then something amazing happened.

Buckbeak bowed back to him.

"Amazin'! Ha, I knew they'd like yeh!" Hagrid exclaimed, "Go on now! Yeh can pet him now! Buckbeak likes a good pat!"

Harry slowly rose from his bow and reached his hand forward. The hippogriff, seemingly impatient, leaned its head closer and rubbed against his outstretched hand. The feathers were soft to touch, and as Harry relaxed, he found himself smiling. Buckbeak… wasn't all too scary when he was seeking for affection.

**Greeting of the Hippogriff Quest completed.**

**By receiving the respect of the strongest hippogriff in Hagrid's herd, other hippogriffs will also treat you affectionately as long as you never forget your own respect.**

**You are now eligible to work as Hagrid's stable hand.**

"Alrigh' then Scarred, before work comes learnin' 'bout these creatures! I think the bes' way is takin' 'em fer a ride yerself!"

Harry blinked. "…What?"

"No need ter be cautious! Buckbeak won' drop yeh! Well, as long as yeh don' pull at his feathers…"

**Fly with Buckbeak Quest**

**_Before you can become a stable hand, Hagrid says you must learn about the hippogriffs first! What better way to do this than some firsthand experience? Buckbeak is willing to take you for a flight! To ride on a hippogriff as a new player is unheard of. Take the opportunity to fly with Buckbeak! You might need this experience later._**

**Difficulty: E**

He didn't even have a chance to agree or not. Before he knew it, Hagrid was lifting him onto Buckbeak's back—something that made Harry realize how awfully small he was compared to the half-giant—and then right after he gained his balance, Buckbeak was dashing off into flight.

Something Harry had never experienced before! The wonders and majesty of being airborne! After getting over his initial fear, Harry took the chance to open his eyes and look around. The wind stung at his eyes, but once he got used to it, the feeling that beat in his heart was indescribable. To think, that these were the types of thing you could experience in virtual reality!

Harry had no idea. A genuine smile touched his lips. The scenery passed all around him, the clouds, the snow, the forest. The air was freezing, but he still felt warm inside.

**Because of your appreciation for nature, wisdom has increased by 1.**

**Despite the chill of flight, you feel better than you ever have before! Stamina has increased by 1.**

**You have learned a new skill:**

**Hippogriff Riding Beginner Level 1 (0%): You are now able to ride a hippogriff in flight without falling off. Because this skill is at beginner level, you still experience discomfort and tire. Also, the hippogriff you are riding will obey you only depending on your intimacy with it.**

**The more the skill level increases, the more likely your hippogriff will obey you and the less discomfort you will feel.**

Upon landing, Harry received a quest.

**Help Hagrid Quest**

**_All of Hagrid's stable hands have left him, due to being courted away by the other stable masters. Help him out instead, as well as convince others to work for Hagrid through your own display of hard work._**

**You will gain temporary occupation of "Hippogriff Stable Hand" for a week.**

**Difficulty: E**

* * *

Harry worked for Hagrid for the whole leftover duration of his four weeks. Honestly, the week he spent with Hagrid he genuinely enjoyed. The half-giant was very friendly with a gruff exterior, and talking to him was very relaxing. Hagrid wasn't the smartest villager in the town, but his heart was as pure as a child's. He could see why animals took to Hagrid like fish to water.

By the end of his stay, Harry had not only raised his intimacy with Hagrid to the max, but also befriended multiple hippogriffs, though the one he was closest to was still Buckbeak. He had also attracted three villagers to become Hagrid's replacement stable hands, and watching them, Harry knew these couldn't be bought off with a pretty galleon. They truly cared for the beasts that gave their town its name.

There was, of course, the matter of the other stable masters, but Hagrid assured him there was no need for some petty revenge.

…Harry still might've snuck away with Buckbeak a few times to sabotage their stables. Nothing to affect the hippogriffs, of course—simply a cause for some mild discomfort while working.

Because he still worked very hard for Hagrid, the small amount of notoriety he had gained doing such a deed quickly vanished. His fame grew to a modest amount instead. By doing physical labor, Harry also saw a small increase in his stats, such as strength and stamina! It was a wonderful development, and definitely worth the week.

Hagrid was sad to see him go, but knew that he was a foreigner who needed to explore. "Come back an' visit, yeh hear? An' if yeh need any help, yeh can be sure we'll come runnin'!"

"Yes. Thanks Hagrid," Harry dipped his head in a small bow. It was his small show of respect that he had become accustomed to while working with the hippogriffs.

"Before yeh leave the town, there migh' be someone yeh wanna see… He usually don' talk ter people, but yeh befriended Buckbeak, so he'll welcome yeh no problem! Should I send yeh off?"

"I'll go see him. Uh… where is he?"

"He's over at the edge o' town! Jus' go west. Buckbeak knows, he'll take yeh. Shouldn' be a problem! Jus' say ol' Hagrid sent yeh, though betcha he'll know with Buckbeak…"

**Friend of Hagrid Quest**

**_Hagrid feels that there is a friend who you might want to meet in the village, who also has close relations with Buckbeak. Meet with the mysterious friend and see what he wants. Buckbeak will take you there._**

**Difficulty: F**

"I'll be sure to say hello for you," Harry replied.

* * *

He was sure there was _some_ type of mistake. Buckbeak had lead him to… a tree. An oddly shaped, knobby tree which had a suspicious lack of snow covering it, but it was definitely a tree. Harry was _sure_ of that.

"Are you sure this is where he is?" he couldn't help but ask the hippogriff for the third time. Buckbeak made an impatient grunt at the back of his throat and nudged him forward.

"Uh… you want me to…?"

Buckbeak grunted again. Then, he stamped his clawed foot down on the snowy ground a few times before looking at Harry expectantly.

"You want me to knock," Harry translated. He received a dip of the head and another push forward. "Well… if you say so…"

So Harry walked up to the tree with Buckbeak behind him and knocked on the wood, lightly and without confidence that something would ever happen. But he was so, so wrong.

"_Who're you?"_ yelled a voice out of nowhere. Harry jumped. He scanned the horizon for a sign of a person, but there was no one. Besides, that voice had come from somewhere rather close to him…

_"I _said_, who are you?!"_ the voice yelled again. This time, Harry immediately tracked it to… his feet? He looked down, and only then saw an opening at the base of the tree, large enough for someone to climb down it.

"Uh," Harry spoke, using a louder voice and feeling somewhat silly, "I'm Scarred. Hagrid sent me, with Buckbeak."

_"Buckbeak? Did you say Buckbeak?"_

"…Yes?"

_"Stay RIGHT there! Don't move!"_

The player blinked, but obeyed anyway. A few seconds later, a rustling sound came from the tree, slowly making its way to the hole at the base. Harry watched in fascination as a black _dog_ crawled out, looked at him, yipped once, and transformed into a man all in the matter of five seconds.

He knew anything was possible in virtual reality, but… this was taking it a bit far.

Harry furrowed his brows and before the man could say anything, shot a question at him. "Do you _seriously_ live _inside_ a tree?"

For some reason, the man grinned. It would've been a more attractive smile if his skin wasn't lightly covered in dirt, and his hair wasn't a bird's nest. Harry was sure if the man had a good bath, the black ringlets would be quite fetching. "Well, I _do_ live in a tree. And I _do_ like to live Sirius-ly!"

_…What._ Harry blinked. "I'm sorry, was that a joke?"

The man just kept grinning. Finally, as if he could take it no more, he threw his head back and burst into raucous laughter. "Get it… HA! Because I'm—HAHA!—I'm Sirius… so the way I live is—HAHAHA!—Sirius… _ly_! I made an adverb out of my name! Ha_ha_!"

Harry blinked again, _slowly_. Then, wordlessly might it be added, he turned to the hippogriff next to him. He wasn't sure if he was hallucinating or not, but Buckbeak seemed to roll his eyes.

Harry nodded. Maybe it wasn't best staying around crazy people. Who knew if this person was a PKer. He motioned to Buckbeak, and then turned around and made a move to leave.

"Wait! Where are you going?" the man cried after he stopped laughing.

Harry almost didn't turn around. "I'll… leave you to your laughter," he said awkwardly. "Hagrid says hello, by the way. Uh… goodbye."

"Nono! It's okay! I'm done now! We can talk! I'm sure Hagrid sent you here for _something_… or at least, Buckbeak seems to love you, that silly beast, so I'm sure you've got something worth telling me!"

Harry really _was_ rather close to leaving, but Buckbeak snorted in amusement and began to push him back. _Bullocks._

"I'm Sirius. Sirius Black! Me and Buckbeak go _way_ back! I'd invite you in to have some tea, but I'm afraid it's a bit of a mess in the trunk, _if you know what I mean_. But roots are fine!"

And just like that, Harry found himself having a conversation with an escaped convict on the roots of a tree strangely called the "Whomping Willow." Sometimes, he _really didn't want to know_, but, well, after he got around the relative insanity of Black, the man was actually a nice person to talk to. A bit of a joker, but not cruel by any means. He didn't get anything out of Black other than a "I escaped from a jail," but Harry supposed it didn't really matter.

If this was virtual reality and he was going to do such odd things such as ride hippogriffs and have meaningful conversations with NPCs, having such an NPC be a criminal wasn't too far off the general list.

"You know what Scarred, I like you! You're nothing like those uptight Lords in Nox Kingdom!"

"You've been to Nox?" asked an intrigued Harry. Nox Kingdom was the ruling kingdom of the South, with the main Church of Slytherin located in its capitol.

"Oh yes," Sirius nodded, "I've been all over. Came from the South, actually. The Black family is a line of Slytherin nobility, but we're also rather infamous for the Black line of insanity… I left those crazy old geezers the second I could get away!"

"So you found a home in the North…"

Sirius smirked. "No self-respecting Slytherin would willingly go into the lion's den, unless it was for some nefarious deed. Thankfully, I don't have very much respect for the Slytherin side of the family… I'm registered as Gryffindor now, you know."

"Fascinating. You can change your faction?"

"Er… I was kind of the black sheep of the lot… or should I say_, white_ sheep!" Sirius chuckled at his own joke. Harry couldn't help but grin as well, despite that he didn't find it all too funny. Black's smiles were just sort of contagious. "Mum blasted me off the family tapestry, called me a traitor, and ended up setting the lot on me. I was excommunicated from Slytherin faction. Oh, no it's not like that—she wouldn't have thrown me in jail, no matter what she thought of me—but I managed to cause quite a ruckus before I thought of making my way up here, and one thing led to another…"

Harry actually laughed at Black's _what-can-you-do_ expression. "You sound like you had a lot of fun."

"Oh, _I did_! My family was the stuffy, uptight type of noble that you'd see wearing those frilly dresses and all too many layers. Getting them a tad bit more than red in the face was worth every minute I spent in that jail cell! Besides, I was already relatively insane—can't say I'm worse, can't say I'm better now—nothing more Azkaban could do with me, really. Oh, if you plan to get up into some trouble, better avoid Azkaban. Anyone who can't transform into an animal would go through several layers of hell and back… Those dementors are a real _bitch_ to deal with... And they don't give you chocolate for it, I'll tell you that!"

Buckbeak fell asleep at some point, curled at the two men's feet to take a short nap. Harry didn't know how long he talked to Sirius Black, but it was probably for a couple hours at least. The man told him stories of distant places and terrible monsters, having his own style of running commentary all the way through. It just made him want to explore the continent _even more_.

He was genuinely amazed at the universe of this game. The NPCs were not simply there to give explorers quests to do! They worked on their own timeline, genuinely living their lives! They not only simulated the background of the game, but also created the scenarios! Politics, intrigue, war or peace, the NPCs were major participants. Befriending them proved a valuable experience. Even the seemingly most insignificant NPC had something worthwhile to share. They lived their _lives_ in this world, after all.

_Mortem_! A world with countless environments to brave! A world where the strong walk their own path, and the weak trail behind! It matters not what form strength and power takes, because when all is said and done, it _will_ be recognized! Harry was slowly learning this; that while Mortem could just as well emphasize your weaknesses in a pinch, so too could it emphasize all of your strengths! At some point, there will arise a situation in where skills are needed, and if you have them, Lady Luck proved on your side! However, if you did _not_ have them…

It was all dependent on what you had, and whether you were creative enough to use it.

"You know, Scarred, I can see that your adventure is going to take you very, very far," Sirius began, "And it'll be a perilous route you'll walk on—yeah, you're not disagreeing with me, are you? You know it for yourself. In that case, I think I'd like to teach you something that'll be helpful on your journey…"

"Teach me something?"

"Yes. It's a skill all Blacks learn since childhood, one of the secrets to our success—"Sirius huffed in laughter,"—I guess you could say it's part of the _Black_ Arts! Ha! Get it? Because Dark Arts are forbidden, and this is a _Black_ skill? Ha!"

…Sirius' jokes _really_ weren't funny, but Harry couldn't seem to stop himself from smiling anyway.

"It won't be easy to master, but should you happen to, the effect of it will be undeniable. I think it'll be able to help you out of some sticky situations…"

**Sirius Black has offered to teach you a new skill!**

"I'd be grateful if you taught me," Harry said quickly.

"Well then, I'm assuming you don't know much about mana…"

**You have learned a new skill.**

**_Every person, place, and thing possesses mana in Mortem. It is the essence of life! The soul! Where all power originates from! Without mana, mages could not cast spells, warriors could not summon their auras, and an archer's arrow would simply be a flying point. Not even thieves could slink along the shadows undetected!_**

**_With your new understanding and respect of mana, your eyes have been granted a new ability._**

**Mana Reader Beginner Level 1 (0%): Allows you to read the flow of mana in people, objects, and the environment.**

**At the beginner level, mana will be consumed per second for the duration you have your sight activated. However, certain events may trigger Mana Reader to be activated without your command.**

* * *

**Net gains:**

**Wisdom +1**

**Stamina +3**

**Strength +3**

**Level +3**

**2 new skills gained- Hippogriff Riding, Mana Reader**

* * *

**And so the ball starts rolling... lol. What's probably going to happen is that I'll switch between Tom and Harry's back stories until they finally meet. Time skips also inc because no one really wants to read about mindless grinding n_nv**

**GOTCHU GUYS.**

**Anyway, because so many people have been asking: yes, I'm still working on The Game. It's not abandoned. Just a bad case of writer's block, but I have half the chapter finished. Hopefully I'll be able to write some more soon OTL**

**Thanks C:**

**Sincerely,**

**R.R.**


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